


I Saw the Devil

by Lauralot



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Blood, First Meetings, Gen, Irony, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3967426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier meets a pretty, familiar American.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Saw the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Subtitles for the Russian should appear if you hover over the text.

“Isayev!” the Commander barked as the van pulled to a stop before the base.  “Hose the Soldier down before you take him to the doctors, you understand?  And you—” Here he knocked the cigarette from the Soldier’s hands, scowling.  “Next time don’t make such a mess.  The van will reek of death for weeks.”  


The Soldier rolled his eyes.  The dried blood on his eyelashes made little streaks of red in his vision as he did.  He’d been told to send a message.  Coating the processing plant from floor to ceiling with the workers’ blood had done so, had it not?

“This way, Soldier,” the rookie—Isayev—said.  He did not tremble to be so near to the Department’s greatest asset.  They did sometimes, the Soldier thought.  “I’ll get you washed off.”  


Nodding, the Soldier unfastened his seat belt and slipped from the van, lighting another cigarette as they went.  The halls were silent save for the click of their shoes and the pitter patter of the blood not yet dried on his frame.  But then there were voices in the conference room.  The Soldier looked.  And he stopped.

Isayev went perhaps a meter before he must have realized the Soldier was no long behind him.  “Hey!”  He rushed back to the Soldier’s side.  “What are you doing?”

“What,” said the Soldier, staring through the glass of the door, transfixed, “is _that_?”  


There was a man at the table, a man the Soldier had never seen.  His suit was impeccable, his hair skirting a line between blond and red.  His smile was radiant.

“Him?”  Isayev’s voice was lower.  Likely he was afraid to interrupt the Director’s meeting.  “An American, that’s all.  Don’t you want to get clean?”  


The Soldier pressed a hand to the glass, blood flaking off his fingertips.  He’d heard of the Americans before; they were always trying to buy him from the Department, but he was too valuable.  “He can’t be an American.  He’s not fat.”

Isayev snorted at that, though he quickly stifled the sound with a hand to his lips.  “Well, he’s a special one, I guess.  Come on, Soldier.”

“He looks like an angel,” the Soldier whispered.  There was a prickling at the underside of his skull, a feeling he couldn’t name—  


“There he is now,” said the Director, staring at the Soldier.  She didn’t look pleased at his appearance.  In his peripheral vision, Isayev was going white.  “Soldier.  Come here.”  


He knew he shouldn’t smile.  They’d likely put him to sleep without dinner if he did.  But the Soldier couldn’t help his grin as he pushed open the door and swaggered inside.  He reached their table and dropped his cigarette to the floor, grinding it out with the tip of his boot.

The Director was speaking in English—introductions, he thought—but he couldn’t focus, not with that man staring at him.  His eyes: the Soldier felt as though he were on an examination table in the laboratory, opened up and on display, but a part of him didn’t mind when it was those eyes doing the staring.  When he got to see that hair wasn’t quite red or gold up close.

The Soldier’s own hair was auburn now, but that was with blood.

“Soldier!”  The Director snapped in their mother tongue.  “Greet him.”  


“ _Ochen preeyatna_ ," the Soldier said.  It wasn’t his fault she hadn’t specified English.    


“ _Ochen preeyatna_ ,” the American repeated.  His accent made the Soldier giggle.  


“He’s been in operation for a week now,” the Director said.  “Usually he’s not so...lively.”  


But the American only smiled and actually offered his hand.

The itching in the Soldier’s skull said that was wrong.  It said a man that looked this way should hug him like a long lost brother.  But that was silly.  The Soldier had no brothers; he was one of a kind.

And that was why the Director would never give him to the Americans.

Grinning, the Solider took his hand, shook firmly.  The other hand, the metal one, clapped the man on the shoulder.  It left a vivid mark on the suit.  Well, at least the American would have something to remember him by.

“ _Do svidaniya_ ,” the Soldier said cheerfully, although they wouldn’t, turning on his heel and striding back toward the door before the Director could start shouting.  


Isayev was still at the door, looking chalky.  “She’ll wring you neck for that!”

The Soldier’s laugh was loud in the empty hallway, echoing across the walls.  “She won’t.  I’m too special.  And that’s why the Americans can never have me.”

It’s almost a shame.  The man looked so interesting, so familiar.

**Author's Note:**

> For those reading this on a mobile, or otherwise unable to access the hovertext, translations are as follows:
> 
>  _Ochen preeyatna_ : Pleased to meet you  
>  _Do svidaniya_ : Until we next meet


End file.
